It was stupid to get caught.
The object of my desire is tall, blonde haired, blue eyed and ripped with drool inducing muscles. His morning routine consists of greeting the sunrise by pushing back his curtains, reclining on his bed, and watching whatnot on television. All of this is done in a one piece - naked as the day he was born - birthday suit.
My response is in kind. I spend mornings submerged in the darkness of my bedroom. I've even developed a routine. After I've tugged my curtains back I settle on the side of the bed furthest from the window and wait. Because I'm concealed by shadows I feel secure in performing an early morning strip tease down to a pair of tiny bikini panties. Within ten minutes my neighbor's curtains are thrust back. There he stands, the morning wood pushing against the windowpane while he stretches and studies the sky.
For weeks we've shared the same schedule. Most mornings he'd wrap his hands around his thick flagpole and I'd tuck my fingers into my panties. On off days we sit: he watches television while I watch him. This is our special time...until today.
Today he settles on the edge of the bed with the remote in one hand and his thickening joy-stick in the other. Something on the television bothers him and his thumb pushes at the buttons until he finds what he wants. My neighbor shifts back on the bed, pulls on the tip of his purpling plumb then looks up right into my bedroom window...and catches me watching.
What does one do when getting caught? I scramble over the side of my bed, stunned. With my ear pressed to the carpet I wait for a siren, the jangle of keys, and the static from the radio the cops wear on their hips. It was impossible to hear much over the blood pounding in my ears or spy incoming black and white uniforms with stinging sweat dripping into my eyes.
When all that fails to materialize, crawling belly down from the bedroom to the hall seems the appropriate action. In the hallway I expect to see myself in the highly polished reflection of a boot. What I get is a mocking chirp from a cricket under the refrigerator. Was that insect for 'hands up'?
Immediate panic and fear ebbs to embarrassment. In the shower I soap away sweat from my hair, arms, legs and belly. At work I sit at my desk drifting through paperwork, calls and nosy chocolate monger co-workers. Lunch provides a break in the creeping monotony of my thoughts. I stand at the railings to the outdoor food-court pretending to eat a wholesome meal of chips and a hot dog the vender talked me into.
"It's not as if we ever spoke to each other." I say to the pigeons pecking at the bits of hot dog buns I throw down to them. "I couldn't even tell you his first name." One of the pigeons cocks it's head at me. His 'coo' sounds disappointed. "That's my point. You can't have a relationship with someone who doesn't even know you exist." The other pigeons look up at me with reproachful beady eyes. "Ok...who didn't know I existed. But he sure as hell does now!"
The pigeons wander away to check out a bit of cracker not far from my bits of bread. I frown at them. "Turncoats." I mutter to the lot. Another bit of cracker lands further away from me.
I trace the arc of tossed food back to a man sitting on the bench not more than ten feet away. The blue eyes that lock with mine rob me of breath. My stomach clenches. I feel my safe secure world tilt. It's Him!
He smiles. His smile reveals dimples. Dimples? Suddenly my head is spinning. My handsome neighbor doesn't have dimples, does he? As I stare he lifts a hand to tuck a strand of short blonde hair behind his ear. Helpless, I watch this action. Absently I wonder if my neighbor had cut his hair. It's much shorter than I remember it being. But then, the object of my desire in the mornings isn't his hair.
His smile broadens as I take stock. In response to my searching look he slouches down, drapes his right arm over his thigh and tap-taps briefly on the growing bulge behind the zipper.
There is no denying I know the rhythm of those fingers. Heat rushes to the nether bits between my legs. I cannot hide the resulting blush.
His smile is all knowing and smug.
Salvation swoops in literally. "Ow!" I jerk back from the pigeon pecking the red nail polish on my toenails. When I look up, my neighbor is gone.
